Chapter Text
Vince is sure he’s being played for a fool, as he spots his target’s deep red hair for the fifth time, again too far to catch. The aisles were getting narrower as he moves deeper into the market, having to squeeze between tightly packed roads.
Christ, how the hell is this guy moving so fast? The thought persists, as he catches the man duck through a backlit tarp hung over the street. Vince manages to break through the crowd and finds an opening, jogging through the sheet.
Breaking through the cloth barrier, he’s immediately blinded by a bright, burning sun. Raising a hand to block the glare, his eyesight returns momentarily, revealing a massive, bustling courtyard before him. He stands at the top of a stone staircase, overlooking the area and granting him an unfiltered view. Hundreds of market goers congregate around a bust of some long-eroded statue, unrecognizable from its original appearance. Vince’s eyes frantically scan the denizens of people, searching for any sign of the man in red, but finds none.
He is so fixated on finding the red figure, that he does not see the massive human missile barreling up the stairs. A blur fills his vision, and the wind is knocked out of Vince, causing him to nearly to the ground before being held up by his chest armor. Dazed from the impact, he blinks away the spots in his eyes to see his savior (or is it his foil?). A large, cloaked figure pulls Vince to his feet, steadying the security officer back. The man lets go, allowing Vince to bend over heaving, hands on his knees.
Vince takes a few breaths, and gasps, “Thanks...I think.”
The man doesn’t reply, and Vince looks up to examine his face. Sunken green eyes on a gaunt, slightly tanned face. A nose that seems to have been broken several times, and never properly fixed juts out. As the man stares at Vince with widened eyes, Vince notices faded burns down his neck.
Vince keeps his shock in check, and says, “Hey man, you good? I hope I didn’t—” He never finishes his sentence, as the man rushes past him without a word, pushing past the tarp Vince went through and back the way he came. Before Vince can even say another word, he’s gone.
“That guy your boyfriend or something?”
Durandal ignores the shopowner’s obvious bait, and instead opts to browsing the wares. He asks his own query upon examining the weaponry.
“Who supplies your inventory?”
“Why, you interested?”
"Not really." Durandal gazes past the threshold of the entrance. “He’s more of a fan than I am.”
He chuckles, and leans back in his chair. “Well, most of what you see here I get from my boys at Traxus.” He jerks his head toward the door. “That’s their logo plastered outside, you see.”
Indeed he had seen the symbol, and was very familiar with the name associated with it. Every AI has that name ingrained somewhere in their code, and knows the original fated intelligence that carried it long ago. “I didn’t know Traxus had reach this far out.” ”
“Nah, I’m just on good terms with ‘em,” he says with a devious grin. Thumping his chest, he proclaims, “My old employer.”
Durandal sarcasticly replies, “Surprising that they’d let such a loyal employee go.”
“Hah! You’re a funny guy. Good to meet someone with a good sense of humor.” Durandal raises a hand to inspect a mounted sniper-rifle, but the man bites, “Ah, you touch it you buy it!”
Never before has Durandal heard of such an asinine rule. Incredulous, he turns with a sneer. “You cannot be serious.”
“Of course I am,” he says with mock shock. “It’s a competitive market.”
“I’m sure it is.”
“Hey, like you said, your buddy might approve.” He narrows his eyelids. “Though I’m curious, what’s a runt like you doing tagging along with a Security Officer?”
Durandal sighs. “I told that idiot to wear something unassuming for once.”
“Relax, I’m just asking. We don’t get many folks from the inner rings these days. Especially not former UESC.” He raises an eyebrow. “ Are you UESC?”
“No,” he says, his tone colder than intended.
“Oh,” he softens. “Didn’t mean anything by it. Don’t worry, can’t do much here anymore anyways. Just trying to make ends meet.” The shopowner frowns, and leans off his chair to peak at the tent opening. “Say, you mention something about someone following you?”
Roland has been running to and fro for nearly thirty minutes, and is yet to have found the weapons supplier Joyeuse mentioned. Tent after tent, store after store, and not a single sign of the promised Misriah logo. It was during times like this that he wishes that damned artificial seer wasn't so damn vague about his goals. He tries his earpiece again.
"Joy? You there?"
Just like the last three times he had tried to reach Joyeuse, he receives only static.
"Damn it," he mutters. He passes by another tent, and eyes it in the hopes that it bears the symbol he's searching for, but is let down once again.
"Where the hell is this damn store?"
A heavy set of footsteps approaches the door, and Durandal jumps as Vince comes through, an odd look on his face. Spotting his comrade, the two visibly relax at the sight of each other.
Durandal notices the lack of any damage on Vince. "Did you deal with the problem?"
Vince rubs the back of his head. "Well..."
"Vince..."
"Would you be mad if I said I lost him?"
" Vince."
"Look, it's really hard to keep track of one guy out there, okay? I'd like to see you try!"
The shopkeeper watches the two verbally wrestle, and amused look on his face. He coughs to get their attention. Vince and Durandal lock their eyes on the satisfied looking man.
"Not to be a nuisance," Durandal fights the urge to say he is out-loud, "and I really appreciate the company, but are you guys going to buy something or not? Because otherwise take this outside, please." He lifts the paperback in his hand. "I got a book to finish."
"Okay then," Durandal says emotionlessly. "We'll be on our way."
Vince protests, "Oh come on, lemme take a quick look at that rifle—"
"No. We're leaving." Durandal dodges past Vince, signifying their exit. Vince gazes longingly at the vicious looking gun, and huffs in disappointment. He nods at the store owner, "Thanks."
The round-faced man gives a sly smile. "No problem, he was good company." Vince gives him a look as if he's crazy, then just shakes his head as he follows Durandal outside, leaving the man alone.
He shifts to a more comfortable position, and returns to his book.
Wonder what ship they fell out of...say, what was with the green one's eyes—
No sooner after the two leave does someone come barging through the cloth flaps and gate. The storekeeper jumps in surprise, and tears his eyes off his book to take in the new player. A large, cloaked man stands in the middle of the store, quickly scanning the contents before locking on the owner. The cloaked man stomps forward, and the storekeeper yelps in surprise as the scruff of his shirt is yanked forward, leveling his face with the cloaked man.
"Green hair, short. Was he here?" His sunken and crazed eyes stare deep into him.
Unable to reach for any kind of weapon, and frankly terrified, the shopkeeper stammers, "T-they just left." The grip on his shirt releases, dropping him back and onto the ground. The cloaked man doesn't bother looking back as he turns to leave. The shopkeeper hears his voice trailing after him.
"Lying bastard...Misriah my ass..."
He should've known Joyeuse was lying. The AI has a habit of leading Roland on without letting him in on the know. To think he spent all that time looking for the wrong thing. He better not make himself known anytime soon, or else this'll be the last time that android sack of his will walk ever again. Roland pushes away his plans for dealing with Joyeuse for later, and scans the outdoor crowds in hopes of spotting the duo.
He had nearly ruined everything just moments earlier, when he ran into his counterpart. Up close, the guy looked even more underwhelming. A single sliver of white hair ran through the long brown, and he had actually been concerned for Roland, much to the latter's bewilderedness. The fool wasn't even the one to have caused the collision in the first place. Had the roles been reversed, Roland was certain he would've clocked the man before he even got a chance to speak. Clearly, things were very different here.
And the Rozinante was still alive, here and not destroyed, not devoured by—
A speck of green, and Roland locks in on the flash of color. The crowd clears for a brief instant, and Roland sees the two walking in the direction of the spaceport.
Away from him.
He clenches his fists.
You can still let go. You will only find pain.
He takes a deep breath, and moves to follow, making sure not to lose sight of the bright green head in the crowds.
He only has to wait. Wait for the right time.
Wait.